At 4:45 AM, I awoke from another night without rest. I hopped in the shower wondering why I bothered since I was only preparing myself to jump in a lake. I lugged my bag full of triathletic goodies into the car and zoomed away in the predawn darkness.

I made it to the Expo Center at a reasonable time along with what seemed like half the other women of Austin. I expected a long line for the shuttles, but it was extremely well-organized and the school bus ride to the lake was fast. I sat in the very last row, in a half-seat so my injured leg could remain straight. A fellow TriTex athlete sat in front of me. She told me about the strange dreams (nightmares!) she had the night before. I hadn't suffered a triathlon-induced nightmare since the week preceding my first training bike ride. I told her about how I'd left my swimcap and goggles at a pool in San Marcos two nights earlier. On our triathlon check-list, it said to bring a second pair of goggles, and fortunately, Linda had a spare set! Unfortunately they weren't as nice as the pair I was used to. They didn't leak, but they weren't easy to look through, either. However, I was grateful, as it was much better than nothing.

We decided to head over for body-marking before setting up our transition. There was one long line waiting for a body marker, but we quickly discovered that hiding behind that one line were many other body-markers with very little waiting. She wrote my race number in black marker on both arms and quads. Then she wrote my age on the back of my left leg. I noticed a few other athletes with a smiley face on the back of their shoulder or a red heart on their leg. (Next race, I'll have to be more creative with a pen, or use one of my GU temporary tattoos. Mmmm... GU!)

I walked into the transition area and carefully placed my things out onto my towel. I talked to a woman next to me and found out that she was a cancer survivor. I made sure to obey the suggestion to put sunscreen on after bodymarking, but found that it tends to smear the number. I made my way to the swim start at the boat-ramp and joined the second wave, indicated by the red capped heads. It quickly became apparent to me that I was the only non-cancer survivor in the group. It had nothing to do with the timeliness of my registration, like I'd thought the day before -- somehow, somewhere a mistake was made, and I was placed in the wrong wave. I felt guilty and very much out of place. Most of the women surrounding me were in their 50's and up, however there were women closer to my age, too. The speaker announced that all the members of TeamSurvivor go in front of the starting line for the annual photo. I didn't dare move. One other young woman with a red cap hangs back as well. I asked her if she was a survivor, and she told me that she survived cervical cancer. She wasn't a member of TeamSurvivor, but checked the box on the registration form that indicated she was a survivor of cancer. "I didn't think they'd put me in the front, though. I guess that's one good thing that's come of it."

One of the exciting things about that morning was being able to see the elites. For Danskin, it was easy to qualify to be an elite, one only had to be an experienced triathlete. Still, the group of elites was small. Just seeing them was so inspiring!

After a 20 minute delay, the race began. This was nothing like the beginning of a running race with numerous false starts. It was very precise when we would begin. Due to the slipperiness of the ramp, we all walked into the water and started from there. I gave up slipping around on the rocks as soon as I could get my whole body in the water. Sally Edwards was in the water giving high-fives. That was great!

Our wave started, and I held back as I knew I wouldn't be a strong swimmer. I began swimming, careful to go easy on my injured legs. Just a few minutes into the swim, I got thrown off by taking in water instead of some needed air. What on earth am I doing here? I can't do this. I'm going to have to quit. (Just as my vision the previous night was probably not heading in the right direction, I was failing at giving myself the appropriate self-talk.) I looked up at the kayaks lined up along the left of me, and continued swimming. There was just one other woman from my wave in the back with me. We were soon approached by two male swimmers wearing white caps. Oh how embarrassing. In addition to the rescue kayaks, this year the race had a group of male swimmers, called "Angels", armed with noodles to assist the weaker swimmers. I wanted my angel to go away. Maybe if I would just swim faster. Soon, the light blue caps of the wave behind us began to swim by. My angel was still there. I swam to the far left in order to stay out of the way of the crowd of swimmers. It worked for the first two legs of the swim, but the last leg I ended up on the right side near the bouys. My angel swam behind me when a new wave of swimmers approached, hoping to keep them from running into me. Sometimes it worked, often, I still got kicked and bumped into. There were a lot of "I'm sorry"s in this event. I doubt any other triathlon has athletes half as timid and polite! He also assisted some other swimmers around me. One nice thing about the angel was that he kept telling me what a great job I was doing and letting me know where I was on the course. Twice, I had to take a break from swallowing too much water. I never took the noodle, and instead swam on my back until I could catch my breath. It was usually when I flipped over that I started swimming off course. The cool thing about my angel was that he had also run the Decker Challenge! At one point, I could have swore I felt raindrops, but shrugged it off as a passing splasher. Even though the swim took me a long time, I didn't ever get exhausted or push my legs too hard. Finally, I looked up and I spotted the finish line banners. Even though there was just one banner, the borrowed and now foggy goggles made me see double. By this time, I'm sure I'd seen the whole rainbow of caps pass me up. I thanked my angel as he headed back to the starting line, and walked up to the welcomed sight of a sandy bank. Everyone ran up the bank, but due to my leg, I had to walk.

In a gated area with over 2,000 bicycles, I easily found mine as there was a bright orange towel draped over the seat. (or perhaps it's because nearly every other person in my wave had already left on their bike) Since I was doing this triathlon injured, I was in no hurry. This is what I did...

• Ripped off the cap
• Grabbed my towel and carefully dried off
• ewwwwwwed over my now green scabs
• Applied Neosporin on the wounds
• Found my carefully laid out bandages which were now soaked due to the light rain!
• Dug around in my bag for the remaining dry bandages
• I found them and slapped them on
• Reapplied sunscreen
• Got out of the flip-flops, tried to get the grass and dirt off my feet, and slipped on socks and shoes
• Ate GU
• Drank Gatorade
• Climbed into my biking shorts
• Put my AIDSRide biking jersey on
• Sunglasses
• Bike helmet
• Bike gloves
• Overheard a conversation between two survivors about how one was doing this race so much better than last because she was another year out of chemotherapy.
• Picked up my cellphone to call a friend who wanted to watch me race. Unfortunately she couldn't make it this morning.
• Grab my bike and walk out to the bike starting line.

• Put in my contacts (looking back now, perhaps I should have)
• Check my email

At the bike starting line, there were spectators everywhere. One yelled out "Go HCRA rider!!" Even though I did have the time, I didn't stop and explain to her that I didn't actually do the HCRA ride. I only helped and supported a friend who did. Perhaps next year! The beginning of the ride went smoothly. I glanced at the trip odometer which revealed that I'd only cycled 24 miles on that particular bike. I was about to increase my time on my bike by 50% for this race. Frightening. Along the road were many, many spectators walking to the race start from their car. There were a lot of fathers with children. We cycled up through the roads around the Expo Center. I ran across my TriTex buddy Linda again. It sprinkled off and on, not the most ideal weather for a cycling race. I cycled slow but steady. I'd done this route before, and this time there weren't cars and motorcycles demanding lane space on the highway. It was a nice ride.

Far too soon into the ride, I came upon The Corner. The Corner of Gravel. The Corner of Pain. The Corner of Intimidation. There were volunteers telling us to slow down for the sharp turn ahead. I followed Clara's lead from the previous ride and, watching for faster cyclists, got over to the far left in preparation for taking it wide. The turn approached. Close. Closer. Closer. Here. My mind sent me one strong, clear and consistent message. "If I turn, I'm going to fall. If I turn, I'm going to fall." I slowed down. My body refused to even attempt the turn. I passed my opportunity to turn and finally came to a controlled stop... in the ditch on the other side of the T-intersection. I didn't fall. One of the volunteers asked me if I was okay, and I yelled back that I was a big chicken just fine.

Just a little shaken from my unexpected reaction, I decided to join about half the women who were walking their bikes up the hill. At the top, I got back on. This road had been freshly paved with a very uneven surface full of gravel. My bike shook. I took it slow. My bike shook more. I prayed. Soon we made another turn and the road changed to a smoother surface, but it was full of highlighted cracks. One of the suprises in the triathlon was having to avoid the water bottles dropped by cyclists. It was especially unnerving when someone had just dropped the bottle and it was still rolling around. They were not obstacles I was prepared to deal with. It also suprised me just how many of those bottles were regular water bottles with lids. How did people expect to safely open those and drink? I couldn't imagine cycling with anything other than a cycling water bottle. I had two bottles on my bike and finished one filled with Gatorade while on it.

The race now turned into surviving from one hill to the next. I found the race to be completely opposite the Decker Challenge. When running, I dreaded the uphills and enjoyed going downhill. When cycling, I looked forward to the uphills. They were slow, controlled and my strength. It was on the uphills that I passed so many other cyclists. The downhills scared me to death. While other cyclists were zooming by, I hung onto my brakes for dear life. I degraded to the point where I didn't want to go downhill any faster than 15mph. The self-talk returned with a clear message of failure. Why did I agree to buy this bike, when I could have just borrowed it? I won't want to get on it ever again after this race! -- I was wrong. Triathlons are not for me. This is my first and last one. During my long distance training, I was able to keep my body relaxed so it performed well over long periods of time. As the race went on, I could feel my body getting more and more tense.

One fellow cyclist noticed my jersey and asked if I did the AIDSRides. I told her I only supported a friend who did, but wanted to do a ride next year. She told me that she did the 3-day walk for Breast Cancer in Dallas earlier this year and that it was an amazing experience. It felt great to make contact with other triathletes. During runs, I usually end up making a few friends, but triathlons require so much more concentration.

Finally I approached the last downhill. It ended up being not half as bad as I had feared, and I made my way up the final long big hill. There were a lot of bikes being walked up. I continued on. A woman cheered us on with such great spirit that she reminded me of my mom. She told us "This hill is YOURS! You can conquer this hill!" On the other side of the fence, we got our first glimpse of the runners halfway through the run course. We yelled "Go runners!!" They returned with a "Go bikers!" Conquering the last downhill gave me a huge boost of confidence. I heeded the advice of the TriTex coaches and took the last leg easy, finishing my bottle of gatorade. I spent all my extra energy cheering on the runners, all of whom I'm sure had passed me up in the swim or the bike. Turning the last corner onto the street lined with spectators was incredible. I gained so much energy from cheering on the runners that I continued cheering us athletes on in response to the supporters. Fist, grin, chew, chew! (Sorry, Mr. Sinus reference.) What big smiles from the crowd! (I had no idea that camera was there, but just look at the change in attitude from the bike start to the bike finish. ...and yes, I did buy these pictures from the photography company. Hopefully they will show up soon!) I was done with the two hardest parts. Yeah!!!

All the bikes had returned. In the place on the bike rack where my bike should have gone were two fallen bikes. Since I was still in no hurry, I challenged my undiscovered talent for balancing three bikes and managed to get them all back on the rack. This transition was much easier. I unzipped my jersey and threw on my TriTex tank top with the number already pinned on. I took off my gloves and my helmet and picked up my cellphone. I walked over to the run start line. When I realized it was going to take me an hour to complete the "run" and realized it was only going to get hotter, I turned around to retrieve my last bottle of Gatorade.

Crossing the start line, I wondered how my leg injury was doing. Fortunately, it hadn't affected my bike ride at all. I ran about three steps and the pain shooting through my body determined that I would be walking the entire three miles. A lot of people did walking mixed with running, so I had company. It was hot and we were tired.

Danskin starts the race by grouping everyone into a wave. I think there were about 20 waves of women. The first wave was elites, followed by survivors, and then oldest age group to youngest and finally the relay teams. As I started the bike ride, I saw high numbers written on the back of the legs around me. 60's, 50's, 40's. As I continued through the race, the numbers kept getting lower. By the run, there were plenty of 30's. I saw the first 25 a mile and a half into the run.

Cheering on my fellow triathletes was the best part of the Danskin. During my walk, I had plenty of time to cheer on the cyclists and fellow runners. For the first part of the run, I could yell out to the cyclists on their final stretch. Farther into the run, runners have it easy going downhill while the bikers work hard to make it up the last big hill. Instead of just calling out to a group of people, I could make eye contact with each cyclist and cheer them on individually. Although I was half-blind due to not having contacts in, I could clearly see them looking back at me with smiles! Once the course turned away from the road for the last time, it got much quieter. Along the sidelines were not people, but trees. It was time to cheer for us! We continued the "Go runners! (and walkers!)" Many of my fellow triathletes needed the extra boost at that point. When we reached the water stops, I cheered for the volunteers. There were so many volunteers helping out to make it a safe and excellent event. They were awesome!!

I spotted a friend I ran the marathon with, Amanda, who took a short break to walk with me. There were a few people I knew somewhere in the race with me, but with about 2800 racing women, it was difficult to find any of them.

Two hours and 50 minutes after the start, I finally made it across the finish line where they announced "a very happy" me crossing the line. During a pre-triathlon seminar with Sally Edwards, she had asked me what my triathlon goal was. I told her it was to be smiling throughout the race. Looks like I successfully met that goal.

Since no one can enter the transition area to retrieve their gear until the last cyclist is on the run course, I decided to return farther up the course and cheer on the later athletes. There was a bend in the run that is physically close to the finish line, but still only a mile and a half through the run. I met a volunteer and together we shared sunscreen, cycling accident experiences and cheers for the final finishers. It turned out we had previously met at the Hill Country Ride for AIDS.

I saw Clara (the woman who drove me to the ER and stayed with me the whole time so that I would have a ride home) and she gave me a big hug. I also saw a RunTex coach who asked me if I had fun. I described it as scary and challenging. An elite runner was in tears because she was so touched by everyone's accomplishments. It was great watching Sally Edwards cross the finish line. She's such an amazing woman!

The walk back to my car was pretty miserable. I had to walk my exhausted body, bike and gear all the way from the park to the Expo Center parking lot in the heat. It was frustrating not being able to find my car. By the time I got there, it was too late to have a planned lunch with a friend. I went home to recover.

Lessons Learned:

• Triathlons are dirty. I think I was more wiping off more dirt than water off my feet and legs after the swim.
• I need to figure out a better way to deal with riding half-blind.
• There are no pockets for cellphones when I run in my biking shorts.
• Be prepared to avoid rolling water bottles while on the bike.

I went to the TriTex post-race party a couple days later and we had quite a few laughs over some of our racing experiences. One person said she was running her hardest, yet it took her a long time to catch up to the person in front of her... who was walking. (Sounds like something the Penguin would say.) We commented a lot on how much of a feminine race it was. Overheard during a transition between two competitors, "Which shirt should I wear?" Apparently I wasn't the only one guilty of claiming "Oh what a cute shirt!" My favorite shirt was one that said "Twisted Sisters" on the front with a neat logo, and on the back was "3 Sisters - 1 Dream - 1 mile at a time". Their supporters had shirts that matched the theme. I also saw a "3 Sisters & 1 Cuz". Waiting at the starting line for the swim, someone behind me noticed one of my snaps was undone and offered to fix it. This was definitely a race of women!

The coolest thing I got out of the race is on the back of my leg. Apparently black markers make great sunscreen as my age is now burned onto the skin there. None of the four race numbers were in the sun like my age was. The only problem now is that it lies. I'm a year older!

The greatest inspiration I got out of the event was hearing the story of Sabine Bildstein's race. She fell off her bike during a sharp corner, possibly The Corner. One of the volunteers saw the fall and called for aid. However when the volunteer turned around, she was gone. Despite her nasty fall, she got back up on her bike and kept going. I saw a picture of her in the second transition. There was plenty of blood dripping down her leg and arm. Not only did she finish this race, but during the run she overtook the leader to win!

"The woman who starts the race is not the woman who finishes the race." This line is written on my finisher's medal. I knew it would take a lot to finish the triathlon, because triathlon training is so much more difficult than training for a marathon. (A bike doesn't fit in my carry-on bag as easily as my Mizunos!) My experience was that it was not something purely or even mostly fun. This journey from marathoner to triathlete has shown to at times be annoying, challenging, time-consuming, scary, physically scarring, difficult, intimidating, expensive and painful. I'm so fortunate that my first triathlon was in such a supportive environment like Danskin, as well as having the majority of my training in quite triathletic Austin. Although I had quite some negative thoughts and feelings during the race, it was an overall positive experience. I'm a better athlete and individual. I will do another triathlon! I think it was best described by "Underdog" on the RunTex Triathlon website: "...the Danskin is about overcoming and being a winner. Whether you are overcoming cancer, overcoming life's everyday demands that pull you away from taking care of yourself, overcoming your own physical condition or limitiations. There are at least 2400+ unique and wonderful stories of women empowering themselves."